


Office

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-07
Updated: 2009-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene’s made his choice after a difficult conversation with Superintendent Rathbone, but he needs Sam to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office

Long though the search had been so far, it didn’t take long for Sam to realize that the second drawer of Gene’s desk was a disorganized shit-hole that clearly hadn’t seen the light of day in years, existing solely to fuel Sam’s frustration. Sighing in mild exasperation – never room for surprise in this, not anymore – he perched on the edge of the desk, propping his foot up on Gene’s chair as he skimmed over an assortment of pages, hoping that the forms he had unearthed were at least up-to-date.

He had just found the miniscule parade of numbers identifying the form as a relic of 1957 when the door behind the desk swung open, catching the chair as Gene took a step inside and hesitated, unusually fierce eyes narrowing at the sight of his DI casually leaning against _his_ side of the desk. Sam winced and shoved his handful of yellowing papers back into the desk drawer.

‘Sorry, Guv,’ he said quickly, pushing the drawer shut. ‘Just needed to look for… well, no matter, I’ll just–’

‘Don’t move.’

Sam looked up sharply at the tone of Gene’s voice, quiet but irrefutably commanding, heavy with an unreadable intensity that made Sam hesitate in his movement to push away from the desk. Their eyes locked for a long, charged silence before Sam offered a faint nod and relaxed back against the edge of the desk, relieved as Gene nodded back and closed the door behind him. His hand seemed to find the single malt perched on the filing cabinet without looking and thumped it down next to Sam alongside one of his unwashed whisky glasses before turning to shrug off his suit jacket. ‘Pour us a drink, would you.’

Indignation bristled at the tip of Sam’s tongue, but the weariness was plain in Gene’s broad, slouching back as he slumped free of his jacket and loosened his tie. With an inaudible sigh, Sam poured out a healthy dram as Gene dropped into his chair with a faint groan of relief. He gestured for the glass in a move that was all the more imperious for its sheer laziness; Sam mutely handed it over. His boot was still lodged against the arm of the chair, pressed by Gene’s heavy thigh, and he shifted cautiously to lower his foot when a firm hand landed on his shin, another command to remain still.

‘Guv?’ Sam tried to keep the confusion clear from his voice, even as he squinted down at Gene’s hand, now absently stroking his calf. He didn’t want to taint this by stating the obvious – the unspoken law against becoming too familiar in CID, the danger of being discovered through the shoddy blinds that had seen too many impacts to provide safe cover for a lingering touch that carried anything other than violence.

‘Bloody Rathbone.’ Gene took a slow sip of his drink and stared down at Sam’s leg beneath his hand. With a low, considering hum he rolled his chair forward, coaxing Sam’s knee to bend, compelling his leg to present its full length to Gene’s wandering fingers.

Sam swallowed nervously, glancing involuntarily at the inadequate blinds; as usual, they weren’t even fully drawn shut. He had no idea how they looked from the outside, but Sam could feel the tension gathering around their closing positions, Gene claiming the space between his legs, forcing him to widen his precarious stance on both floor and chair to accommodate the man now running a hand along the full stretch of his thigh. ‘What about Rathbone?’

Gene released a hard exhale through his nose, slammed back the remainder of his whisky and dropped the glass carelessly onto the desk’s surface, settling his hand against Sam’s hip. ‘Wanted a quiet word just now.’

‘Yeah?’ Sam tried to focus on Gene’s words, to pretend this was a simple conversation like any other. He wished Gene would bloody well look him in the face instead of watching his hands grope and stroke their way along the length of both his legs – the firm weight of his touch was more than a little distracting.

‘Never seen a man with legs like yours, Sammy.’ His voice was so quiet Sam wasn’t sure if he was meant to have heard at all. Gene cradled his raised leg in a firm hand, hoisting it higher to prop Sam’s foot on the back of his chair as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead into his inner thigh. ‘Too bloody thin by far, but strong. Could spend all day staring them up and down and never get enough…’

Sam closed his eyes, feeling his resolve crumble beneath the possessive clutch of Gene’s kneading fingers.

‘Keep thinking of them wrapped around me, slung over me shoulders when I fuck you…’ Gene raised his head and pushed sideways at Sam’s bent knee, parting his thighs even wider and sliding his right hand upward to press at the bulge straining at Sam’s trousers. ‘Wouldn’t give it up for anything.’

‘Oh, god…’ Sam’s head rolled back, his hips canting forward into Gene’s firm hand.

‘Yeah, just like that…’ He pawed roughly, almost painfully over Sam’s trapped erection, his voice growing harsh and fierce. ‘Damn you to hell, Sam, can’t ever let you go, can I? Won’t let them take you away from me…’

Sam’s eyes snapped open, taking in the glare of the fluorescent light dangling over his face as he fought against lust to process the bitter words floating into his consciousness. ‘Gene...’

‘Never letting you go…’ The vow was growled into his thigh, Gene’s mouth pressed against taut denim.

‘Gene, _stop_.’ Sam reached for his shoulders, firmly pushing until Gene relented and sat upright, hands slowing and relaxing where they lay, one on a sharp kneecap, the other still covering his groin. ‘Gene,’ he said again, taking a deep breath as he struggled to focus. ‘Tell me what Rathbone wanted to talk to you about.’

Chest rising and falling visibly, Gene returned Sam’s scrutinizing gaze, lips tightening in an unpleasant grimace. ‘Pour us another one, Sam.’ He nodded down at the bottle and empty glass. Again, Sam obeyed, thinking that he’d feel slightly less like some club girl if only Gene had thought to put out a second glass. With the unseemly comparisons churning through his head, he was relieved when Gene stopped fondling his crotch to take the proffered drink, though it did little to ease the uncomfortable thickening of the air between them. Nervously, Sam chewed on his thumb and drummed the fingers of his other hand on the whisky bottle while he watched Gene drain half his measure in one and stare moodily at the remainder.

‘Was about you,’ he mumbled finally.

A shiver of dread froze his nerve endings, made his fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. ‘Oh?’

Gene looked up sharply and Sam winced; they had both heard the broken pitch of that one, choked syllable. Forcing himself not to look away from that piercing green stare, Sam took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Ehm, what did he have to say?’

The squeeze of Gene’s hand around his thigh was likely meant as reassurance, but felt more like a threat closing around him. ‘Superintendent Rathbone,’ he intoned drearily, ‘wanted to know whether it is in the best interests of CID to retain a Detective Inspector whose loyalty to the department might prove lacking.’

Sam felt shame and indignation rising in equal measures up his throat, constricting his words. ‘I suppose this is to do with the tape of Billy Kemble’s questioning,’ he muttered. His mind reeled through the memory of his textbook-perfect career in the force, his unswerving commitment to his job, his swift promotion to the rank of DCI, only to halt upon the bitter image of that corrupt old bastard sweeping the remains of the cassette into his rubbish bin.

‘Well, that and pulling a gun on a superior officer.’ Gene took another sip of his scotch and stared flatly at him.

This time, Sam had to look away, shame consuming any lingering pride. ‘I see,’ he murmured, addressing himself to Clint Eastwood’s illustrated likeness over Gene’s shoulder. ‘I, er, didn’t realize Rathbone knew…’

‘Was in a statement some plod took from Cartwright.’

‘Ah.’ Clint was going a bit blurry at the edges; he felt the sting of Annie’s betrayal before he was able to correct himself, to remember that Annie owed him nothing. Gene owed him nothing.

They were his whole life.

‘I have nowhere else to go.’ Clint took in his quiet confession with stony indifference.

‘Don’t think that’s what you said at the time. You told me you had to leave. Now, that’s quite the opposite, isn’t it?’ The heavy hand on his thigh withdrew slowly, abandoning Sam to himself. ‘So which is it, Sam?’

A horrible tightness was clenching around his heart, stealing his breath. ‘I… I don’t….’

‘Has to be one or the other.’ Like an insistent drumbeat, Gene’s words pounded into him, uncomplicating his world with a reductive choice. ‘Either you have to leave, or this is the only place you want to be. Now be a bloody grown-up and tell me which one it is.’

Sam closed his eyes, listening for any hint of the future, willing them to stay silent, just this once. ‘I don’t want to leave,’ he whispered.

‘Damnit, Tyler, that’s _not_ what I was asking!’ Gene stood suddenly, unbalancing Sam’s foot still propped on the back of his chair – he lurched precariously on the edge of the desk, only to feel two large hands clenched around his hips, steadying and bruising him all at once as Gene surged tight between Sam’s sprawling legs. ‘Stop acting like a great sopping girl and tell me what it is you _do_ want! Tell me I was right to tell Rathbone where he could shove his goddamn interference in my team. Tell me I was right to declare a great bloody war on his arse if he dares even _think_ of taking you away from me…’

A pain sharper than the one pulsing outward from Gene’s fingers on his hips shuddered across his suddenly-too-tight skin, making him flinch as though the other man’s words had physically cut into him. The weight of his want was too much, more than Sam had ever known. ‘Gene…’

‘Shit.’ The curse was soft off his lips, an exhausted breath collapsing under Gene’s own prodigious weight as he slouched forward, pressing his face into Sam’s leather-clad shoulder. ‘Sam…’

His arms seemed to lift like a convulsion, an involuntary spasm that enveloped Gene and pulled him close. ‘I want to stay,’ he whispered fiercely, mouth covering Gene’s ear. ‘However long you’ll have me… I’m staying.’ He hesitated, then dropped a light kiss to the corner of his jaw. ‘Thank you.’

The tension drained palpably from the bunched musculature of Gene’s back, easing away beneath broad strokes of Sam’s hands across his shoulders. He felt a long, slow exhale pass hot and moist across his own throat and uncoiled gently in return, lowering his arms and letting Gene push himself upright once more. A determined calm had settled over his storm, though his eyes were resolutely fixed at a point beyond Sam’s shoulder. He wondered if Gary Cooper was any more forthcoming than Clint had been.

‘Right.’ Gene dragged a stiff hand across his mouth, inhaled deeply through his nose. ‘Good. That’s…’

He trailed off, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and stared somewhere down between their bodies. Gene’s awkward uncertainty warmed something in Sam, made his hand move, willing now to risk further touch, to cradle Gene’s cheek in his palm or card through that unruly hair–

‘Gene.’ A low voice, a swinging door, and Sam flinched away, spinning on his heel and nearly falling over the desk at Harry Woolf’s sudden entrance. ‘About that… oh, pardon me, Inspector.’ He stalled in his stride, offered a conciliatory smile. ‘I didn’t realize you and Gene were…’

‘Not at all, sir.’ Sam looked away as soon as was polite, uncertain how much of his brief panic was showing in his face. He dared to glance at Gene, found him admirably blank if a touch pale. ‘I was just on my way out… excuse me.’

Sam moved towards the door behind Gene’s desk, only to find himself stalled once again by Gene’s touch, his hand pressing his arm like a brand to his hyper-aware body. Holding his breath, he waited, eyes professionally averted.

‘Tonight then, Tyler,’ Gene grumbled off-handedly. His fingers tightened, barely perceptibly, before giving him a shove the rest of the way towards the door. Heart pounding, Sam let the momentum of Gene’s heavy hand push him through the doors, escaping in time to the adrenaline in his blood, stoked to flame by the knowledge of how close they had come to discovery, how dangerous that had been…

‘He’s something else, that boy of yours.’ Woolf’s voice rumbled through the thin walls, echoed out the door as it swung shut. Biting his lip, Sam ducked his head, waited for Gene’s gruff reply.

‘You don’t know the half of it, Harry.’

As he walked away, Sam allowed the smile teasing at the corners of his mouth to stretch into a full, reckless grin.


End file.
